


Blood calls out to blood

by Nary



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Age Difference, Cylons, Doggy Style, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingerfucking, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saul wonders if the Six knows the truth about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood calls out to blood

Saul wonders if the Six is laughing at him. Not outright, she wouldn't dare, but secretly, behind those shifty blue eyes, who knows? He wonders if she really wants him, or if she's just using him for… for what? Not the pleasure of the act, surely. For a chance at escape, a shred of information, a moment's relief from boredom? He wonders if she knows the truth about him. Maybe Cylons can tell. He doesn't dare ask.

He's got his fist balled up in her hair (that silvery-golden hair that looks like Ellen's in the right light) as she sucks him, moving her steady. He's still only half-hard, even with this beauty on her knees in front of him and her lips wrapped around his cock, and he ought to be ashamed of himself, but mostly he's just impatient, wishing he was thirty years younger. He wonders if she thinks he's old. He doesn't particularly think of himself that way, except when his back seizes getting up from his rack or he catches an unexpected glimpse of himself in the mirror. Then, yeah, he thinks "Who the hell is that old man?" He notices the years more on Bill than himself, for whatever reason. He wonders if Bill can at least get it up for the President, or whether they spend their nights just cuddling.

Hard enough now. He pulls her off him, rougher than he means to. "Up," he orders her, "and face the wall," and she does as she's told. She doesn't fight him anymore, not since the first time – she started this, he reminds himself, exculpates himself – and today he wishes she would. He'd deserve it if she hauled back and decked him, the way he treats her. Not even like a whore. Like a machine. She _is_ one, of course, but still...

He pushes her against the cold metal of the wall, and her long legs splay wide to let him in. She's slick against his fingers, so real. Whatever genius designed her body should get a medal. She mewls as he pulls his fingers out, like she wants more, so he gives it to her, hard. Her fingers scrabble on the wall, and the sound's getting on his nerves, so he pulls her arms down to hold them still, one wrist clenched tight in each of his hands as he fucks her. It makes her back arch, and she's losing her balance, bringing both of them down to the floor, where they always seem to end up. If he didn't know how frakking stupid it would be, he'd leave a camera running so he could watch them together later. Stupid and sordid and depressing. Better left to the imagination.

One thing about not being twenty anymore, everything takes longer. In this instance, Saul doesn't mind. The Six is on all fours, pushing back against him with that perfect little ass against his stomach, and sure his knees are killing him, but it's worth it. She brings one hand between her legs, pressing her face against the steel and bolts of the floor, working her clit, and he feels a moment's pang, like he ought to be doing that for her. She's probably thinking of Baltar – the gods only knew what women saw in the scrawny little sleazebag, but there was obviously something – or one of her Cylon pals, maybe that other tall blonde bitch. He slaps her hand aside and pushes his own into its place, teasing and rubbing her until she moans. Not his name, but it's something. _Let her know it's me, at least._

She comes for him eventually, or maybe just fakes it well, shaking and gasping. But he can't seem to quite get there himself. She's lying limp underneath him, and he pulls out, feels the chill of the ship's stale recycled air on his wet cock. He figures he'll just wring one out by hand, maybe spunk on her ass, but she turns to look up at him. "Let me help," she murmurs.

"I don't need your help," he snaps, angry and embarassed.

"Yes," she says, "you do." And she draws him back down to the ground, lies him down and straddles his hips, easing him back into her, gentle. She kisses him, bites his lower lip until he tastes copper – _Cylon blood, metallic_ – and rides him, slow but hard. To his surprise, he comes in under two minutes flat, soaring up to meet her. He doesn't have a name to cry out, but words wouldn't suffice right now anyway. Yes, it's cold and harsh and nasty, but for the first time, he thinks maybe she needs it as much as he does.


End file.
